I’ve spent a lot of time on the “weird wide interweb thingie” lately because there’s this website I just can’t seem to stay away from. And no, it is not one of THOSE sites. Shame on you. Get your mind out of the gutter.The site of which I speak is www.historyofwowo.com, dedicated – as you might surmise – to the history of Fort Wayne’s WOWO, the radio station of my youth. It’s full of pictures and airchecks (broadcast recordings, for those of you who don’t speak radio) and I tell you, visiting has been one big whomping nostalgia fest for me.

Just now I was listening to a recording of Bob Sievers and Jay Gould doing the world-famous “Little Red Barn” early morning farm program, and found myself singing along with a theme song I haven’t heard in decades: “On a little red barn on a farm down in Indiana, let me lay my back on a stack of new-mown hay …” I almost got a little weepy. Almost. I’m not THAT far gone.

WOWO was huge. A Westinghouse (Group W) station, 50,000 watts with a clear channel at 1190 on the AM dial, you could hear it all over the United States and Canada and other parts of the world. But that’s not what made it big to me.

Up home, everyone I knew listened to WOWO, pronounced wo-wo. It was the default radio station for my entire kid world. Our kitchen radio was permanently tuned to 1190 AM, so were the radios of my aunts and uncles and grandparents and every family we knew. It was the station we listened to over the bus radio on the way to school. It was where we went for school closings, where our parents went for news, where we heard the “Top 40.” I think all the presets on the car radio were set to 1190 at one point.

It unified us in ways that only radio could, back when radio could do such things. Let’s just say things aren’t quite the same nowadays – with people tethered to smartphones in their own little worlds and the AM band crowded with programs that consist pretty much of people yelling and advancing conspiracy theories.But back to the website. As I said, I’ve been pretty much camped out there for the past few days, soaking in radio memories. And it has planted a most tenacious earworm, one that I cannot get out of my head no matter how hard I try.

I speak of the famed DeHaven Chevrolet jingle, which will be familiar to anyone from the WOWO listening era. It was a masterpiece. Sing along if you can remember the melody:DeHaven Chevrolet, DeHaven Chevrolet, DeHaven Chevrolet

Of course, it’s all changed now. There is no DeHaven Chevrolet anymore and WOWO, like a lot of AM stations, is a talk-radio shadow of its former self. But the website reminds us that once upon a time, it was possible to drive all day and all night from LaGrange County, Ind., to Florida and listen to top 40 WOWO the entire way. I know because I did it.

It was not, however, in a DeHaven Chevrolet. I hated that jingle.Redmond is an author, journalist, humorist and speaker. Write him at mike@mikeredmondonline.com. For information on speaking fees and availability, visit www.spotlightwww.com.

Hello, there, folks and welcome to another round of “Dear Mike Redmond,” in which I answer, or pretend to answer, or in some cases completely avoid answering in favor of making a joke, actual questions from people purporting to be readers. Let’s dip into the ol’ electronic mailbag, shall we?

Did you ever get your closet reorganized?Yes, I did. I finally got up the nerve to take all my fat man clothes to the donation center for resale. It was quite a truckload, too. Now my old suits and sports coats, all lovingly crafted by Omar the tent maker, are being used to house families in the desert or serve new lives as hot-air balloons.

Were you really as big as you said?Of course not. Do you think I’d tell the truth about something like that? I was bigger. And I still have nightmares that I’m going to wake up one morning and find I’ve gained back all that weight while I slept. It is for this reason alone that I never eat doughnuts after 8 p.m. Cheese crackers, perhaps, but never doughnuts.

I remember when you used to write about your sister’s kids, Deniece and Denephew.So do I. And so do they. And so does their lawyer. Which is a big part of why I don’t do it anymore. That plus the fact that they’re adults now, or so they claim, and as such aren’t doing as much funny stuff as they did when they were kids. They grew up, in other words. Some nerve, huh?

Is your mom still alive?Not only is she still alive, she is still kicking butt and taking names. Unless, of course, you are a grandchild, in which case she is all sweetness and light, which I say is hypocrisy and she says is her prerogative as a little old lady.

What has she been up to lately?Aside from watching basketball 24/7? About the biggest news from Mom has to do with the arrival of a new cat, which she promptly named Bert. I asked her why. “Because he looks like a cat named Bert,” she answered. I accept that. Besides, I have no room to talk, seeing as how I named my cat Maynard.

How’s the new truck?Still waiting to be purchased. I decided to squeeze one more year (at least) out of Black Jack, my old Ford pickup. I just hope Black Jack goes along with the program.

What is going on with (large city newspaper where I used to work)?I have no idea. And from the look of things, neither do they.

I really liked your column about getting older.Which one? Looking at the last few months’ output, that seems to be the recurring theme. I have written way too much on the subject. Of course, it could be due to the fact that I’m … wait for it … GETTING OLDER. You know what they say: Write what you know. Well, I know a receding hairline, sagging skin and being mildly confused by a world which is moving way more quickly than I think it should.

That’s it for now. Keep those electronic cards and letters coming, kids. It’s always nice to hear from people outside the asylum.